Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Dear Jan,

well that was a machine the worthy parade it's real work to get you out yet the railroad is laid on it's bed in the wilderness we are progressive in outlook & it is not as throwback that we decorate our caves - a traveling paint show we come up out of the valleys to the foot of the mountains and look up - i have no attitude of you that is not primal and if you flash stockings at me worn or unworn I'm still gonna shoot up out of the sea to surprise you and make the limitations of gravity into a beholding - you see i'm not an artist but a painter - my brushstrokes and smatterings meant to give you destinations with layers for your mind is such a restless doe hanging from the bar for and to be viewed. Lucky for us that communication is a co-operative venture but is not bound otherwise.

Yes I know you can parade and have your reasons to howl or moan or even to tell me you are going somewhere else with your treasure or how you dismiss me with your flutters! - you know i am not fooled & my dreams reveal a glimpse of underwear riding just above your beltline and of all the questions you ask you never ask me of that - my nostrils are full of you and o how you know it o how you play!

Of course i'm not shoving to you what you have never had or making you dream of it even but the shine of what i reveal cannot be overcome - i know you are a meateater even before we enter the forest or my fingers your hair. The coyotes will be jealous, ya know, wanting to see if they can come along.

So we go biblical -two brats & one apple.

I bet Jan is out without the coyotes right now,
she's prolly just sitting there on a fence, a steel post fence with the metal riggings and maybe she's just combing her hair

thinking, I wish I knew someone who could drive a bad monster old car, let me smear my lipstick all over him on the 180s. Take a bubble bath or two with the side-view mirrors set to the corners and to watch him walk on in, like I didn't know it nor notice.
I bet she is, she's prolly rolling up the lipstick then rolling it back down.

yes - it is most of what I imagined there - don't know 'bout sitting the fence though - i saw it thought it as leaning up against the wall with that casual hungry thing goin' on and in her eyes an "as if" ...

Like Grease lightning.
She was just like one of the pink girls. Her hair bobbed off, cause she got so darn angry one night, took his pocket knife out and cut the trends, right across and glared straight into his side-views. I don't know what all she carried there in her own pocket leathers, but it must of must of been a love note from 1985. Still smelled like baby soft skin.